Side of a Bullet
by Lady Rayvynne
Summary: Do you remember the day Dean stood up and defied the angels? It didn't happen. Michael uses him, Bobby doesn't approve, Sam gets even.
1. Chapter 1

**This is not the first story I've written, but this is the first story I've posted. I have a novel-length story waiting to be posted somewhere. Constructive criticism is welcome. The chapters will lengthen, I promise, but I had to let it end on that quote. I don't own Supernatural, that belongs to Kripke, and neither do I own the movie quote in here.**

**The idea for this: So I was watching the episode where the Winchesters find out about the vessel problem, and then I was day-dreaming in Chemistry class about a week later....What would happen if Dean said yes and Michael inhabited him? What happens when Sam gets irritated and won't have it? And what happens when Sam's left with the temptation of demon blood and no one to stop him?**

Blood dripping off his lip, Dean held his ground, returning Zachariah's piercing blue gaze. "No," he declared stubbornly, one hand on the corruggated steel wall to support him. His face set, he repeated himself. "I won't do it. This war isn't about me. It's about your greedy, power-hungry ambitions."

"It is the typical, ignorant human mind that believes that. This war concerns everyone in it, including you and your corrupted brother." Zachariah smiled slyly, sliding a hand into his suit jacket. "And if you don't agree, Caleb will find himself without a mother. You wouldn't want that for innocent little Caleb Winchester, would you?"

Dean seethed, wishing he could beat the smile off the angel's face. "You wouldn't dare. He's innocent, pure. He doesn't know anything about this!"

"I would do anything to win this war."

"Fine. Yes. Yes, you evil, two-faced, cowardly son of a bitch! Let Michael take me, and damn you to Hell. I agree to this, but you had better not touch my son. " Dean ground out the words, flinging blood onto his shirt. One motion of Zachariah's hand and the pain vanished, the blood disappeared, and Sam's choking was suddenly silent.

Dean was terrified of what would happen next, and he desperately hated Zachariah for using the one pure, happy thing in his life and twisting it, forcing him to become a meatsuit for another holier-than-thou angel more concerned with winning a war where humans were the cannon fodder than doing what he was supposed to. He considered killing Zachariah to protect his son from the lying, manipulative angel, but there wasn't much time to contemplate it before the arrival of another angel.

The sound of wings beating filled the storage container, and Castiel stood before them, something Dean had never expected to see again in his life, short as it was proving to be.

"Castiel!"chimed the other three occupants of the storage container.

Castiel eyed Zachariah contemptuously. "You will let them go," Castiel gravely announced.

"I think not," Zachariah demurred, a smug smile ensconcing itself on his face.

"You _will_ let them go," Castiel repeated, a steely note entering his voice.

"I don't have to," Zachariah gloated. "The boy has already agreed. You are too late, Castiel."

Castiel blanched. Wordlessly he turned to Dean. "You..."

Dean shook his head in protest. "I had to. He threatened to kill the mother of my son. What was I supposed to do, let him kill the woman who created the best thing to ever happen to me?"

From behind him, a familiar throat cleared and Sam spoke. "You have a son? Dean, I know I'm not the only one with secrets, but this is ridiculous. You and Dad are so alike. We're brothers, you know? We share things. Why didn't you tell me about this kid?" Sam sighed.

"Not now, Sammy."

"Oh, sure-" Sam began, and he was interrupted by the ground shaking under their feet. Blinding light seeped under the edges of the corrugated steel doorway, and Dean covered his ears as the familiar high-pitched whine began. "Oh, not again!" he snapped.

"Michael is coming, and his wrath will be great, Castiel!" crowed Zachariah.

Castiel turned to the brothers. "He is right. I should not be here then Michael comes. I will find you later." He placed his hands on the boys' chests and vanished with a flap of invisible wings.

Before Dean could turn to Sam and tell him to leave, he was filled with incredible pain, his mind feeling as if it would explode. He felt a presence taking over and shoving his consciousness into a small corner of his mind.

6 Months Later

_Snick. Snick. Snick. _The sound slowly filtered into Dean's brain, making its way past the haze of a hangover. He slowly cracked open his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief as he realized the room was dark. A figure sat in the corner of the dingy room, only partially visible, and the metallic sound seemed to emanate from it. Dean groaned and rolled onto his side. The sound stopped, the figure turned, and Dean saw a glint of metal.

"I wondered if you were going to wake up soon. Its been awhile."

Dean cradled his head in his hands as he sat up. "Sam? What the hell happened? Where are we?"

Sam hefted the blade in his hand and set it down on the table next to his laptop. "It is me, and we're in a motel room in Bremerton, Washington. Bobby did some research and we basically exorcised Michael from you. With Castiel's help, we're on the run from the angels. Despite Michael's activities, the demon's are still winning. Castiel has been looking and he can't find God. And I found your son," he added as an afterthought, face expressionless.

Observing Sam closely, Dean noted his scruffy face, the shadows under his eyes and the slumped set of his broad shoulders. "You look like hell, bro. Can we get some freakin' pie around here? I'm starving, dude."

Sam chuckled dryly. "You're inhabited by an angel for six months, you've traveled all over the world, and the first thing you want when you're free is pie? Typical Dean...Come on. How about a burger? There's this place a couple miles away that has amazing shakes and burgers. And get this – it's called Noah's Ark."

Dean struggled to stand, head pounding. "Real freakin' imaginative. You sure there aren't any angels here?"

"So far, I haven't found any angels in this oversized town, just a hell of a lot of demons." Sam shrugged his massive shoulders.

"Demons? What kind of demon? Crossroads, what, bro?" Dean slid into his jacket, searching for the keys to the Impala. "Dude, where are my keys?"

"I have them," Sam replied.

"You've been driving my baby? What were you thinking?"

"You were flying all over with your fluttering angel wings. You didn't the car, and I did. She doesn't have a scratch on her."

Dean gave Sam a disbelieving look. "Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam pulled his jacket over his head to protect himself from the driving rain and headed into the parking lot. Dean followed, giving the lot a once over, and then did a double take.

"Dude, where's my car?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry about the spelling mistakes last chapter. I haven't gotten a beta yet, and so I posted Chapter One when I was really tired. Oh, and Bremerton is a real town. All the landmarks, restaurants, etc., are real and in completely accurate places, except when otherwise noted. Also, the restaurant Noah's Ark is real, and their burgers and shakes are great. I can also testify to the total awesomeness of the onion rings there. The last time I went, I got my order of onion rings for $3.50. It's a great spot for lunch. Jillian is a fictional character, though.**

Dean stormed back into the sleazy motel room, tossing his jacket onto the bed. "You lost my car? Sam, I know you're my brother and all, but there are just some things a man can't forgive. I can't believe you lost my car!"

Sam sighed and spread his hands in apology. "Look, dude, I'm really sorry. It was out there this morning when I went to get coffee. I came back, and it was still here. That was at ten, ten-thirty. I swear, I'll find it, okay? Don't have a heart attack."

Dean fixed Sam with a glare of deepest loathing and pointed a finger at him. "You're right. You _will_ find my car. And while you do it, I'm going to find some pie in this soggy town." He shrugged back into his jacket, turning the collar up, headed for the door.

"There's a Denny's next door. Their pie is alright. Ask for Jillian, she makes great eggs."

Dean nodded and slammed the door. The never-ending rain dripped in an icy trail down his neck as he walked across the parking lot, eying the traffic passing by – from Navy men and women, officers and enlisted, soccer moms in Chrysler minivans to suit-and-tie corporate types in BMWs - all taking the turn onto the freeway at high speed, ignoring the three inches of rain on the asphalt.

Dean shook his head, hearing the jingle of bells up ahead. He sidled past an old married couple arguing on their way out of the restaurant. He stepped inside, shaking the rain out of his hair, smelling fresh pancakes and hot coffee. A neatly attired waitress approached him, menu in hand. "Welcome to Denny's. I'm Rachelle, and I'll be taking your order this morning. Would you like a seat at the bar or in a booth?" She smiled pleasantly, showing white teeth trained by years of expensive orthodontia.

Dean smiled back, refraining from letting his irritation with his brother show. "I'll sit at the bar today."

"Okay, sir. Right this way." Rachelle motioned down a wide aisle to an area where the conversations were louder and more businesslike. Dean seated himself at the highly polished bar, and Rachelle slid behind the counter. "What can I get for you today?" she asked brightly, taking a pink sticky-note pad from her apron.

"I'll take a cup of coffee, black, a slice of apple pie, and some of Jillian's eggs. I heard they're pretty good."

Rachelle reached for the pot of coffee, deftly sliding a mug across the bar to him. "Jillian prides herself on her eggs. So you're an all-American boy, huh? Apple pie all the way?"

Dean smirked. "I go for cherry, too." He met her eyes so she got his real meaning.

Rachelle blushed, clearing her throat. "Can I get you anything else?"

Dean rattled off the rest of his order, Rachelle's pen moving quickly across her sticky-note."I'll be back with your order in a second, sir." She turned towards the kitchen and Dean caught her arm. She looked back at him. "It's Dean. 'Sir' makes me feel old."

Rachelle nodded. "Dean, then." She vanished into the kitchen, raising her voice. "Jillian, I got an order for you!"

A husky voice replied, and a spatula clattered. "Stop your hollerin', child. I can hear y'all just fine. What's this about an order?"

Dean couldn't hear the response, but he soon found out. A large Black woman bustled to the bar, exclaiming, "Sammy!" Her brows knit together as she saw who it was. "You ain't Sammy. You're mighty fine-lookin', but you ain't Sammy."

Dean set down his coffee cup. "No. Sam's my little brother. I'm Dean," he rasped.

Jillian harrumphed. "Well, anyone related to that boy is welcome here. You tell him to get his hide over here before too long, y'understand?" She poked a finger into Dean's chest for emphasis, then swept back into the kitchen. Rachelle began to organize silverware behind the counter.

Dean watched her for a few moments. "Does it always rain like this around here? It's miserable. I don't know how you can stand it."

Rachelle looked up, her brown ponytail momentarily curling around her wide-eyed face. "Not always, but pretty often. It's winter, so it'll rain for a few weeks straight, give us a few days of weak sunshine, and start raining again. Summer's nice, though. Not too hot, not too cold."

Dean nodded. "Any idea when the next clear day will be?"

Rachelle shrugged one shoulder. "Forecasting is better than it used to be, but with the weather patterns around the Sound, we can't predict more than a few days in advance. Don't worry: you'll know when the weather starts to clear. It smells different, cleaner, almost sweet."

Dean opened his mouth to make a comment, but the jangling of doorbells cut him off. Rachelle looked up, her eyes focusing past him. "Damn," she muttered. "Why is it always my shift?"

Dean turned around to observe the problem – several teenagers dressed in hoodies and bright jeans, scuffed skateboards in hand. They strode confidently to the register, where Rachelle intercepted them, tub of silverware clutched tightly in one small fist. "You're not welcome here, Jack. You know that."

The leader, a tall, gangly teen with pink hair and freckles, twirled his skateboard. "Come on, Rachelle. We don't want to cause any trouble, we just want some breakfast."

A small girl with green hair snickered behind Jack. He turned and silenced her with a glare. Rachelle didn't move. She shifted the tub to her other hip, shaking her head. "No. You lie, you make messes, and you disturb the other customers. I'm denying you service. Do yourselves a favor and leave so I don't have to call the cops. I know you have weed with you, and most of you can't afford to break probation."

Jack locked eyes with Rachelle, still twirling his skateboard. "I'm serious. Just some waffles. That's it. Please?"

Rachelle narrowed her eyes, but before she could say anything, Dean stood beside her. "Is there a problem here?"

The customers went quiet, all eyes on the confrontation. Dean waited for a response, not receiving one. "I believe the lady asked you to leave, so I suggest you do." Dean shifted his jacket aside to reveal a glint of metal. Jack's eyes slid down to it, and back up to meet Dean's heated green gaze. "No, no trouble. We'll leave."

Jack's posse groaned as they shuffled out the doors, and as Jack turned away, he mouthed a single word to Rachelle: _Bitch_.

Rachelle pulled on her ponytail as she settled behind the counter. "Sorry about that. Happens all the time." She pulled a plate full of food from the kitchen and set it before Dean. "Here you go."

Dean motioned with his coffee cup toward the group still loudly complaining outside. "Who are they?"

Rachelle shook her head, sighing. "Jack Maddox and his stupid skater posse. They are the worst kids in West Bremerton. They vandalize property, graffiti things, disrupt the peace, and just generally make nuisances of themselves. I don't understand why it's always the skater kids who make the problems. Unless, of course, when it's Black kids on Black. Or Oly' students on Bremerton students. Or Bremerton students on Central Kitsap students." She slammed the tub of silverware onto the counter. "Why this place anyways? Is it because it's a Navy town that's grown too diverse for the mindset of the people living in it? Ugh!"

Perplexed, Dean cleared his throat. "Care to clarify those references? Not from around here."

Rachelle flicked her hair out of her face in irritation. "Bremerton has one high school, which is large and very racially diverse. What everyone always says about Bremerton High is that kids go there to learn how to deal drugs. Unfortunately, it's basically the truth. Bremerton High is always competing against the two nearest high schools, which are both in Silverdale, and are both fairly diverse. 'Oly' is short for Olympic, which is considered more of an upper-crust school than Bremerton High or Central Kitsap High School, which is the other high school in Silverdale. Central Kitsap, or 'Cee-Kay' as we call it, is very large, and very ghetto. It looks like a prison. Competition between the three schools is pretty fierce. It's not pleasant."

"I see." Dean really didn't see, and his tone seemed to mirror his lack of understanding.

As she crouched underneath the counter, Rachelle spoke darkly. "You will. If you're here for any length of time, you'll definitely see."

Dean's phone rang as he was about to take another sip of coffee. "Dammit." He flipped it open, noting the name. "Sammy, have you found my car yet?....About freakin' time, man...where was it?" Sam's voice rumbled through the speaker. "Did you kick their asses?" Dean paused. "Good. Now what?" Another pause. "What do you mean you don't know? Isn't there a job we can take care of here? Well, then let's do it. Now bring my car back." Dean closed the phone sharply.

Rachelle leaned against the counter, silverware put away, straightening her apron. "You leaving now?"

"Yep. Sorry, but duty calls." Dean scarfed the last of his pie, licking the whipped cream off his fork. Rachelle eyed him from her place at the till, ringing him up. She brought him the check quietly, and watched as he laid a twenty-dollar bill on the tray. "Keep the change, and thanks for the info," he said.

"Actually, thank _you_. And it wasn't any problem. Everyone around here knows about the Bremerton drama." Rachelle shrugged eloquently.

Dean grunted and zipped his jacket, heading into the cold. "Damn weather," he grumbled as he stood under the eaves of the restaurant waiting for Sam. He soon heard the rumble of the Impala. When it pulled up, he motioned for Sam to get out of the driver's seat. Dean slid in, shivering from the chill. Sam turned on the heat for him. "Did you find out anything interesting?" he asked.

Dean sped out of the parking lot. "Yeah. My waitress was cute, and Bremerton has a huge rivalry with the surrounding area – or the students do, at least. Not to mention that this is a military town, so it's not the greatest situation for people like us, and also that it must have some decent bars. There are some freakishly skinny teenage guys around here who look like metrosexual weirdoes in tight girl jeans."

Sam chuckled. "There's a shipyard here, too. Good hands-on work that doesn't require much beyond experience working on cars. In fact, it's the only nuclear shipyard on the entire West Coast."

Dean turned to look directly at Sam. "Doesn't that make it a prime target for enemies of the U.S.?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. But considering that about 48,000 people live here, I don't think it deters them much. New York City still has thousands of people, even after 9/11. Besides, even if Bremerton was bombed, the majority of the Pacific fleet is still out there. There can only be a couple ships here at a time."

Dean drove onto an overpass and saw several massive ships at anchor in the harbor. "Then what the hell are those, Sammy?" He pointed.

"Those are decommissioned ships, no longer used. They're just relics now."

Dean snorted as he stopped at a red light. "Relics, my ass. If they're floating in the water, they're still seaworthy. They're a backup plan for the U.S. Navy."

Sam shrugged again, running his fingers through his hair. "Well, the official story is that they're relics. There's one over by the ferry docks that they give tours on."

Dean shook his head, taking a right at a crowded intersection. "This place, man. It gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"Where the hell are you going, Dean?" Sam asked uneasily.

Dean gave Sam a strange look. "Getting some gas. Tank's almost empty." As if on cue, he turned into a gas station, pulling up at a pump. "So tell me about Cas. You said he was looking for God. Where is he?"

"I'll pay, don't worry." Sam pulled a wad of cash from his wallet. "I don't really know where Cas is. He checks in by cell phone every couple weeks, mainly to make sure you're still alive, but other than that we don't see him much. Bobby is working with Ellen and Jo to clean up a demon mess in Alabama. Bobby checks in every few days. Ellen wants to see us. I'll be right back." Sam strode off into the convenience store.

Dean waited patiently, opening the trunk and ensuring that all the brothers' equipage was still neatly tucked away. He heard a scuff of boots and stood up, meeting Sam's eyes. He closed the trunk and started pumping gas. "You said Ellen wants to see us?" He didn't voice his other question.

Sam opened the passenger-side door. "Yeah," he answered, voice muffled. "She misses us, wants to have us around." He paused. "Jo doesn't say much. But it's complicated, you know. She's like that."

Dean cleared his throat, fighting a blush. "Ellen's letting Jo hunt?"

Sam laughed. "When I asked, she said something about not wanting to let Jo go off alone and do something stupid. Go figure."

"Ah." Dean focused all his concentration on screwing the cap back on the gas tank. He settled into the driver's seat, clutching the steering wheel. He stared at it for a second, opened his mouth to ask something and then thought better of it, lapsing back into silence.

Sam stared at him with a worried look. "Dean? Are you okay, man?"

Dean looked at Sam helplessly, then twisted the cover on the steering wheel. When he spoke, he sounded almost nervous. "Did Jo say anything about me?"

Sam blinked, brows raised. "Not much. Mostly ragging on you for being out of commission on angel duty."

Dean noded, still staring at the steering wheel. Sam watched Dean silently. Dean started the car and pulled out of the gas station. There was utter quiet for a few minutes. Dean finally said, "You mentioned a job in town."

Sam seemed relieved to discuss a topic both familiar and not awkward. "Uh, yeah. Some missing girls. Pretty, capable, well-behaved, good in school – not the usual kidnap victims. And they're all being taken from their homes. They don't even know one another. I was going to use the day to research the cases at the local library, but you woke up."

Dean stared at the red light as they waited. "So let's research. Where's the nearest library?"

Sam materialized a bag of Jolly Rancher hard candies from underneath his seat. "I met a high-school girl at breakfast this morning, and I asked her that. She told me that the library on West Side is crap and that the one on East Side is good, but don't bother trying to print anything out."

"East Side it is then," Dean replied. He glanced over, wondering what the crumpling is. A horn honked behind them, startling Dean into motion, flipping off the minivan behind them and speeding through the intersection. He looked over at Sam again. "When did you start eating candy? Are you trying to lure little girls to the car?"

Sam glared at Dean. "I started eating them, and they provided a source of distraction from my stress. They're like your pie."

"Yeah right." Dean drove peacefully before he realized they were approaching a dead-end street. "Dude."

"Yeah," Sam replied around a mouthful of candy.

"How do we get to East Side?"

"Oh, that. Take a right at the bank and go all the way down Warren Avenue. It'll lead you straight onto one of the bridges."

Dean flipped a U-turn and turned right at the bank, driving past a teriyaki place, a Burger King, a large brick building, several parking lots, houses, and a college. "What are those?" he asked, motioning to two large white poles with boxes on top, one on each side of the last intersection before the bridge.

Sam unwrapped another candy. "A lot of people in Bremerton speed. Those are cameras. When you speed through a red light, the camera takes a picture of your license plate and you get a ticket in the mail. Pretty ingenious. The City of Bremerton is making bank on it, or so I hear."

Dean cast an eye at the mirror, looking back at the cameras. "Jesus. Can't do anything anymore. It's freakin' depressing." He paused and glanced hopefully at Sam. "Do you think they allow Chinese food in the library?"

Sam's raised eyebrows were the only answer Dean got.


End file.
